Fortitude

"Oh! The Master was hard on you! And this is only your first time! But you've had an effect on Him...I can tell. He nearly knocked me down on his way upstairs! And, I think He had tears in his eyes!"

Quickly she removes my bonds and leads me once more to the water closet. Here she offers me warm, soft towels and fragrant soap with which to cleanse away the sticky overflow of my experience. I settle gratefully atop the commode, laving warm water over my breasts and in the valley between my thighs.

Finally, the housekeeper (?) returns and leads me back towards the chair.

"Is it time?" I ask.

She nods, almost apologetically. "Yes, I'm afraid so. He'll be in shortly. You're to wait, unclothed, until He's finished. It's almost over now." Then, setting a CD in motion inside the player, she leaves me to my own devices.

* * * * *

Chapter Six

The music swells, something classical. It fits, I think, feeling it fill me. It's so like Him. Intense, passionate, but with the stark truth that I feel when He's near. It's a good piece, and I wonder what it is.

Silently I kneel upon the hard floor before His chair. He'll expect that of me, this much I know. And so I wait.

Finally, He appears, His demeanor seemingly unchanged, and settles Himself into the chair before me, His hand is draped carelessly between His legs. Has He a swollen member Himself?

"You have earned twelve punishment strokes," He relates. "You have made frequent mistakes. Did you think I hadn't noticed them all?"

Rapidly I try to recall my errors, but in my panic the count is lost. Twelve strokes!

The music swells once more, and I try to lose myself in it. Surely I have not erred so grossly! But, it is a moot point. He says it's twelve strokes, and so it is.

He tells me then to rise and expose my backside for His inspection.

"Spread your legs and grab your ankles," he orders, waiting patiently for me to obey.

What will come of this, I wonder. Is this the precursor to my punishment, or is something else afoot? Without hesitation (I have learned!) I do as I am ordered, then wait until I feel His hands upon me once more.

Now, His touch is gentle, massaging my bruised flesh as he inspects my buttocks. Again His finger probes deeply between my cheeks, causing my sphincter to pucker in defense of its sanctity.

Will he penetrate me now, I wonder? Will his steely shaft find its way deep inside my bowels, ramming mercilessly until finally He fills me with His heated offering?

Once more I feel the tell-tale trickle of my juices, flowing shamelessly at the mere thought. Can He see it? Of course He can! I am spread wide for His inspection. All is on display. All is available. He has but to take what He wants.

He places His left hand atop my spine, bowing my back so that I am better exposed. I shiver. Delicious!

Then I feel my buttocks part, the chill air insinuating itself against my anus, filling the gaping maw of my vagina. He pauses, then resumes, His hands fondling that which has felt no hand but His.

"You're tight," He says, more to Himself than to me. "You'll have a hard go of it when a man reams you. But, you'll do well, very well indeed."

I glow under the compliment, wondering if He will be the one to take my innocence. But no, for now He kisses my battered flesh and tells me of what is to come.

"You will receive twelve strokes," He repeats. "One for each of your indiscretions, but I will be using a variety of tools to implement your correction. The first will be the paddle, much the same as the one on the wall in my office. Four strokes."

He pauses for emphasis, then continues. "The Hellcat is next. Quite a different sensation. You'll be surprised at the difference."

My sex is weeping once more, a gesture of sympathy perhaps? Again He pauses, then quickly moves on.

"The last is the cane, used in ancient times, and always a favorite in enlightened circles. Your flesh will remember this night, Anna. You'll remember it for days, every time your buttocks come in contact with the seat of a chair. Now, position yourself atop the bench."

The bench, I find, is a curious piece of work. Leather-bound, it resembles somewhat those benches used my men in weight training, with a flat surface on one end and a raised platform on the other.

I look about for instruction, and find it forthcoming. The Master now directs me to kneel on the lower portion, my ass exposed and vulnerable in the extreme. Then, pinching my nipple He guides my upper body until my breasts hang over the raised portion of the bench, similar to one suspended over a barbell resting in its rack.

Swiftly, as though He is eager to see it done, He cuffs my wrists behind my back and binds my knees to either side of the bench, opening me for His pleasure. I am prepared. I am at his mercy.

"Are you ready, Anna?" He asks. "Do you have anything you want to say before we begin?"

Yes, I think, my mind screaming for it to be over, and for me to be once more safely ensconced in the secluded safety of my apartment. Does He think I will use my "safe word" now? I could beg for mercy [Compassion], but I remain silent. I have not come this far to fail now. I will persevere, and I will be stronger for my fortitude.

"No, Sir," I respond. "Please...continue."

I am calm, I am in control...until the first crack of the paddle smashes painfully into my battered flesh. Oh! The pain! If I thought the hairbrush was an instrument from Hell, then this goes beyond description!

Desperately, I try to hold back my cries, but I am undone. Again the paddle whacks into my ass, this time on the other side, and I can feel the flames rise once more as I scream my torment.

Whack!

Whack! And he pauses to shift instruments.

Tears foul my face now, and he crosses to inspect my ravaged visage. Something wet plops onto my neck. Is he crying? What have I done?

The music swells once more, counterpoint to the thick emotion that lies heavily in the room. I try to lose myself in it, but the Master speaks.

"This time the hellcat," He explains, his voice strained and cracking. "It will wrap itself around your curves, insinuate itself into your recesses as the paddle was not able. It has seven strands, each knotted and soaked to make them more effective. Would you have Me continue, Anna?"

I raise my eyes to take in the weapon He holds before me. He will show me no mercy, unless I employ my safe word, of this I am sure. And yet something has changed.

"I am ready, Sir," I whisper, my voice belying my uncertainty.

It is His turn to pause now, and I wait with clenched teeth for the hellcat to strike. Then it does.

This time the Master has swung an uppercut between my parted thighs, and I feel the thongs bite deep into my slit. My head spins. Even the scream that threatens my lips falters in its extreme!

Again, same place, and the breath leaves my body in a tortured hiss. He moves to the side now, His fist rising to strike once more.

A third blow! Once more it follows the same path as the first two, biting into my pink flesh and lashing against my clit. I scream aloud now, unceasing until the fourth blow lands and the hellcat drops to the floor.

My ass is a ragged mass of pain, jagged bolts of agony striking like lightening long after the hellcat has ceased its attack.

One more, I tell myself. The cane. I look at the long tool as it hangs against the wall. I will not be sitting tomorrow. Of this I'm certain. I will rest tenderly for many days to come. But, I will be stronger for my resolve! I have begun my journey, and the progress has been hard won.

Again the Master comes before me, His face bearing the pain of my own discipline.

"This is the cane," He offers. "It doesn't distribute the pain as evenly as the paddle, nor curl itself about your womanly curves as the hellcat is wont to do. Instead it concentrates a pathway of distress in a linear fashion across your flesh. It is by far the worst of the three when wielded by an Expert Hand," He supplies, brushing the stiff rod against my straining nipples. "Would you have Me continue?"

His voice cracks at this, as though He would like to place the cane back against the wall and give me a reprieve. But I must not, I cannot, I need to complete this, and swiftly, before I plead for mercy, scream my safe word and go down in defeat.

"Please, Sir. Use the cane. Do what You will, and..."

WHACK!

A line of fire rises across my battered ass.

WHACK! WHACK!

Almost done now...I can persevere for one last blow I think, my vision fouled by tears, the room swimming before me.

WHACK! And it's done. I have won the battle, if not the war. My flesh is battered, but my spirit soars!

I feel His hands now, loosening my bonds, caressing the welts that rise red and ugly upon my darkening flesh.

* * * * *

Chapter Seven

"Get dressed," He commands gruffly, as though something has slipped, something that He desperately needs to keep in place. Then, sinking into His chair, He watches as I gingerly tug my garments over my aching body in preparation to leave. Then something amazing occurs.

"You must be hungry. Please stay and have a bite with me," he requests, his voice unsure, almost pleading. "You'll disappoint me sorely if you don't."

I am taken aback. A bite to eat, when every fiber in my body screams to be released from this place? I think not!

"I must be going, John. I really can't stay. Please accept my apologies."

He looks crestfallen, and rises before me, his lips pressing against my fingertips. "Stay, Ann. Just for a moment. I want to talk to you away from this room."

I hesitate, my flesh tingling as his voice caresses my body. My eyes (the traitors!) relay my suppressed hunger in my reluctance.

"Then stay," he repeats. "Just briefly...a few seconds perhaps," he pleads, leading me up the stairs.

"You've comported yourself admirably tonight. I knew you were special when I watched you open the note this afternoon," he offers. "You touched me somehow, in a way that I haven't been touched in a very long time. May I see you socially, Anna?"

A date? Is he asking me for a date??

Then, as if recouping something lost, He hastily adds, "Nothing changes in that room, your lessons will continue, but in the meantime will you accept my calls?"

He is in charge once more, and I find myself reaching out for His strength.

"Yes, Sir. I'd like that."

Gently he wraps his arms about me, then presses his lips against my forehead.

"Rest tomorrow, Anna. I'll engage a substitute for you. A cold soak tonight will help reduce the swelling, and a long hot bath in the morning will begin the healing process. I'll call you tomorrow night. Will that be satisfactory?"

Tenderly I trail my fingers along His cheek. There is so much to this man, I think...so much. And, I have all the time in the world to discover His many facets. Until then I will continue to grow beneath His hand, in His room beneath the house on University Drive.

I will survive. I will survive.